Longmire: Frames
by burog25c
Summary: Pictures can capture memories or cause trouble.
1. Pictures

Longmire: Frames

Chapter One…..Pictures.

Walt Longmire woke up on the couch. He'd fell asleep there last night re-reading Lonesome Dove. Allen O'Brien had been the ultimate downfall of his old sheriff and long time Lucian Connelly, but he felt the novel, one that Lucian had introduced him to, was a fitting tribute to that cranky old bastard.

He'd fallen asleep just as he reached Woodrow's long struggle to return his dead friend all the way back to the town of Lonesome Dove. He chuckled to himself; evidently, he was Woodrow and Lucian was Gus. After all, he WAS lugging Lucian as he searched for the buried treasure of Anson Hamilton. And he knew he could skip to the end and just find it, but lugging around that old Maxwell House coffee can with Lucian's ashes, retracing the old man's steps in his search gave him some peace. He could imagine the two of them heading out after the treasure if things had gone differently, if he had been so caught up in his job, If Lucian hadn't taken matters in to his own hands.

Walt rubbed his eyes between thumb and forefinger. Yes, that old man's story had ended sadly, but so had Gus's, and Woodrow's… but he'd be damned if he would end up the coward Woodrow was: afraid to even name his own child. He'd already made the decision to change when he'd grabbed Vic and pulled her over for a long kiss before they went after Malachi Strand.

Standing up, he scratched his stomach, his fingers brushing the almost healed stab wound Malachi had given him. Wandering into the bedroom for a shirt and pants, he noticed the bed was empty. No Vic, but he had an idea where she might be. Quickly dressing, he stepped out onto the porch and looked down across the yard toward the fenced in pasture where the horse stayed.

He smiled as he saw Vic down with the horse. She reached down and pulled loose some grass and held it up for the horse to graze on, then she started brushing.

Walt was happy. Over the last few weeks he'd seen a change in her, and the horse seemed to be a lot of it. Also, he knew that Vic and Cady had talked a couple of weeks back, and while neither had mentioned the subject, he was pretty sure he knew. He could tell that Vic had been crying, and Punk's face could never hide what she was feeling. She was sad when he walked in the door that afternoon.

He just stared. Vic was wearing a blue flannel shirt of his that she'd appropriated for a night shirt, and he wished he had a camera.

 _Camera. You have a cell phone now, the cell phone has a camera!_ Walt stepped inside grabbed his phone and started walking down towards Vic and the horse, poking around on the screen looking for the camera app. The cell phone still seemed to be in charge somedays, and he wondered if he was cut out for technology, and yet…

Vic had gotten up early that morning. She climbed out of bed and stretched her arms as high as she could. She grabbed the blue flannel shirt she'd stolen from Walt the first morning she'd awoken in his… no now it was THEIR bed. She hastily pulled on sweatpants and walked out into the living room. She'd missed his warmth in bed that night, but right now, looking at him sprawled on the couch, mostly finished book propped open on his chest, arm hanging downwards… she tip-toed her way back into the bedroom and snagged her phone. She silently moved back into the living room and took a picture, focusing on his peaceful _No_ she thought to herself _not peaceful…. Relaxed! It's like he's…_ she shook her head, she didn't have the right words. Then it hit her. Peaceful was for people who hadn't been through the things she and Walt had. Relaxed though, that was someone who'd had awesome weights in life and who'd finally either gotten rid of them or was able to…. To… able to at least put them aside and enjoy things now.

Stepping out on the porch, she saw the horse down by the fence. She started to wander across the front yard. She reached Walt's beat up Bronco and looked in the back. She reached in and grabbed the horse brush and moved on toward the horse.

She wasn't sure why the last few mornings she found herself coming down here to curry the horse. She started her new morning ritual by bending over to pluck a couple of tufts of grass, but the horse didn't mind. He was greedy and munched it all as fast as he could, then would nuzzle her hand, sometimes bump it demanding more. And the times she actually took the oats along? He was like a crack addict who'd just found the golden pipe.

"Mind you horse, I don't blame you. All that brown sugar? The smell makes ME hungry too!"

Patting the horse, she started brushing and murmuring softly. "I mean what's the big freaking deal? He could give you a name," she laughed, "I bet he had a dog named "Dog". She squeezed her eyes tight for a moment and imagined Walt calling out "Hey DOG! Come here!" and the big dumb mutt would come running.

She didn't know how long she'd been brushing and talking to the horse, but she heard a soft footstep behind her. She turned and saw Walt standing there, phone held awkwardly while he framed a pic. She turned a quarter of the way around, her left arm resting on the horse's back. Teasingly she undid two buttons at the top of her shirt.

Walt took a deep breath and fumbled for the place on his screen that would take the picture.

Vic looked around at the empty land, then hooked a finger in her pants like she was going to slide them lower. "We could take a picture for Moretti Landscaping", she hinted. "That way you'd know the quality of my work."

Walt took yet another deep breath, a habit he was starting to build around Vic lately. "I've already seen enough." He reached up to adjust a strand of her hair, curving it down along her cheek, then took another picture.


	2. Subjects

Longmire:Frames

Chapter 2…..Subjects

Two men sat at the back table of Buffalo Betty's Burgers staring at menus. One tapped his finger against the plastic-coated menu, pointing towards the daily special as the waitress scribbled on her pad.

"And what would you like sweetie?" her pen poised.

"I'll take the double bacon double cheese, and some fries, and some water please." Writing down the second order, the waitress wandered off towards the kitchen.

"How do you think she fits all of that into those pants?" the first man asked, leaning over to watch the waitress walk away. The other man shook his head.

"Look, do you want the job or not? I know you don't have any love for either of them either. I'm more than willing to pay you.

The first man rubbed his chin for a moment then replied, "I'll take the job, hell I'll even knock a hundred off my daily fee, just so I can see Walt Longmire and his slut be dragged through the mud."

"I think we have a deal", the other replied, reaching across to shake hands. "Now where's that waitress with our food? I'm hungry."

Both men waited for their food, talking over the just agreed upon jobs and sharing their hate for Walt Longmire… and both were ready to watch him and Vic Moretti fall, hopefully off a cliff with sharp rocks at the bottom.


	3. Location

Longmire:Frames

Chapter 3…..Location

One day later:

"Are you sure Vic? I just… damn, I'll miss having you here," he trailed off, elbows on his knees and head staring down at the floor.

"Yes Walt." Vic slowly exhaled. She knew that this wasn't what Walt expected when she said she needed to talk to him. She'd been trying to find a way to tell him for the last few hours. In some ways, she couldn't believe it herself, and found herself worrying the tip of her thumbnail between her teeth.

She watched closely, finally seeing his shoulders sag as he excepted the news she'd just handed him. He stood up, walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders bending down to stare into her eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat, thinking up arguments for the denials and pleadings she was sure he'd give.

"Look Walt, I just can't keep on going like this. I have to move on… hell you've told me that yourself. But I just…" she found her voice trailing off as she saw the ghost of a smile curve his lips.

"You're really ready to go back to work?"

"Yes! God I love it here, and I'll be glad to get back to the peace and quiet here every night. At first, I used to think you and Martha must have been off your rockers to buy a place out here, no matter the view. But seriously?" Vic leaned out over the railing of the front porch and looked left and right. No houses in view, no cars in view. "If I wanted to go pee in the front yard who'd know?"

She was surprised when Walt started laughing. "What are you laughing at?" Vic asked indignantly.

"Martha said something like that… it's why we bought this. Turns out it was a good idea, otherwise this would be some damn golf course run by some greedy jackass like Barlow Connelly."

Vic stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around him feeling him breathe in the fresh air. "The good thing is I'll be home at night and busy during the day while you trot Lucian's ash…es all over hell and Absaroka county. Did that old fart really know where the treasure was?"

"Yep. He did. Why?"

"I just have this idea you're trying to Woodrow his Gus butt, but I'm NOT Clara and don't expect me to bury you here!" Vic said, sarcasm coating her words.

"First off, Clara was Gus's…" he never finished his sentence. Vic hauled off and backhanded his shoulder, HARD! _If anyone ever says another word about someone hitting like a girl, I'm going to send them to this one._ Walt rubbed his shoulder then asked, "How do you even know about Woodrow hauling Gus around after he was dead?"

"I saw you reading the book and may or may not have looked the plot up online. Videos… YouTube… any of that ring a bell cowboy? Technology shit like that cellphone you have now?"

Her words bled snark and sarcasm and irony. Walt snorted. "And? Watching these videos?"

"I cried when Gus died. And that whole trip back…", she swatted Walt on the arm again.

"Ow! What was that for?" Walt rubbed his abused shoulder again. _Hits like a girl?_ Walt shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Say ONE WORD about me crying because I'm female and you'll get another." Vic widened her eyes, daring him to saw anything.

"If I did, I'd be condemning myself too. Hell, I cry when I read it and don't let that old bastard fool you. He cried too, even if he'd say it was because he'd been pepper sprayed."

"So," Walt continued, "since you're ready to go back to work, I think we should have a party."

"Is this going to be like an Animal House toga party? Or one of those parties at Grandma Moretti's where we sit around looking at pics of all the cops in the family and eating stale gingerbread cookies?"

Walt turned around and walked inside. As he entered the door, he looked back over his shoulder and said, "Stay there."

Vic wondered what he was up too, but she was entranced with the view. The sun was just starting to set and the air and land were gradually darkening. Insects were starting to make gentle buzzes and chirps, and in the distance, she could hear an owl hooting. _What is it with owls out here?_

After several minutes—in which she heard Walt clattering around in the kitchen—he came back out, an Igloo cooler in one hand and two thick blankets slung over his forearm. Reaching down, he took her slim fingers in his callused ones and started leading her down the steps then around to the back of the cabin.

Walt lead Vic into the woods behind the cabin, to a spot he'd often come to. It had a rock firepit and several tall pines surrounding it. There was a smoothed out area of ground just behind the pit, and he tried to keep some wood for a camp fire. At least he'd tried when… _NO! I am NOT going there. I have Vic!_

Kneeling down, he spread out one of the thick blankets then started grabbing some dried branches to place in the pit. He then placed tinder under the stacked wood, and pulled out a box of matches. The first one he struck was blown out by an errant breeze. The next burnt strong and steady but had almost burnt his fingertips before the kindling caught. Leaning over he blew gently to encourage the fire. Soon, he had a nice low fire going.

Vic had stood watching, arms folded under her breasts. She felt a tingle run down her spine. She didn't know what Walt had planned, but the fire was romantic, and some primitive part of her psyche responded to the fire: It was warm, provided comfort, safety… Just like the man she'd told a couple of weeks ago she wasn't sure how they could make a relationship work.


	4. Viewfinder

Longmire: Frames

Chapter 4…..Viewfinder

At around 4:30 in the afternoon, just a mile or so from Walt Longmire's cabin, he pulled his car off the main road and down a dusty dirt track that was once used by some farmer to go check on his cattle. A half mile or so down the track, he crested a rise and drove part way down the back side, then parked and turned off the engine.

Reaching over to the passenger's seat he picked up the map he'd printed out earlier that day. It was a satellite view of the area around Longmire's cabin. It was how he'd picked out the turn off which would hide his vehicle from passing traffic, not that there was much of that way out here. It also showed that if he reached the tree line just ahead and followed to the right he could approach without being seen. From there, if he was lucky, he could get close enough to the cabin that he might be able to get a view through some of the windows.

While he was eager to get closer to the shitty pile of logs that Walt called a home, it was still way too light, and even in dark it would be hard to get lost since all he needed to do was follow the edge of the stand of pines. Luckily about 100 yards from the cabin, the tree line bulged out towards the road a bit more and looked like it would give excellent coverage of the house and himself.

Deciding to relax for another hour or so and study the lay of the land a bit, he pulled out a Thermos bottle and slowly sipped coffee, mixed with just the slightest bit of bourbon. He looked at the map in between sips, trying to see if there were problems with his approach plan. It was never smart to just assume you could get that close to a target.

After another hour or so, he climbed out of the car to stretch. His head was buzzing just slightly from the bourbon, but his nerves were jittering from the caffeine. Stretching out his legs, he bent back into the car and grabbed two devices. The first was a Nikon D750 equipped with a 55-300mm Nikkor lens. The second was one of his favorite toys. A set of night vision binoculars that also had built in camera and camcorder functions. He'd picked them up cheap at a hunting supplies store in Cheyenne.

Setting out toward the Longmire shanty, he reflected on his life. While this wasn't his normal gig, it did give him some extra income. It was easy to pick up a gig on the weekends or vacation days. Most were jobs where someone wanted to bust their spouse cheating, or wanted to get a bit of dirt on an employer or employee, but THIS was a treat. Walt Longmire and his deputy Victoria Moretti had been a pain in his ass more than once, and he was ready to pluck them both out.

The sun had not long gone down when he reached the copse of trees that jutted out from the main tree line. He was checking both his cameras to make sure they were ready when he heard noises to the rear of the cabin.

He had to move slowly, picking his way through the underbrush, and praying like hell he didn't break a twig, or if he did that it wasn't loud enough to be heard. The farther back he got back, the louder the noises, and the faint gleam of firelight flickered in and out between trunks and shrubs. The noises were unmistakable. He'd captured enough video and audio evidence in other cases along the way to recognize a couple making love, and by the sounds of it, doing it well.

 _Damn_ , he thought to himself, _I wish I had brought the audio equipment along._ He wished he didn't have to move so slowly. It would be nice to get to a place where he could get a good view of the action. Pictures of Longmire and Moretti having sex would be the best present he could give the man he was working for.

Softly, he cursed the underbrush and broken branches and leaf litter that caused him to move so slowly. He still hadn't gotten to a good vantage point but the sounds reached a crescendo of moans and groans, then heavy breathing, silences, soft curses from their releases.

He finally found a break in the underbrush that gave him a view of the couple, but two tree trunks obstructed his view. All he could see was the torsos of two people laying on their sides, a blanket beneath and one covering them.

"Son of a bitch!" he muttered to himself. Too late for the action, and even then, their faces were obscured by one tree, and everything below their waists by yet another. Still, he decided wait; see what happened.

As much as he hated it, he decided to put away the night vision camera and pulled out the D750. While he loved playing with the settings in certain situations, for times like this, setting the mode dial to Auto was the way to go. No trying to decide what ISO, no dicking around with exposure. He also double checked the lens to make sure Auto Focus was off. In low light like this it would take forever to lock in. He checked to make sure the vibration reduction was turned on. No need to get a blurry picture when it could be avoided.

Reaching up to the barrel of the lens, he grasped the middle and adjusted the zoom so the gap between the trees filled most of the viewfinder. He then reached to the front of the lens and adjusted the focus. He was glad he had the time to do that because if they had started to move right away he'd have had to hold down the shutter button and pull through the focus range hoping that one or two shots would turn out well enough.

Without realizing it, his head started to fall forward, nodding off. The caffeine that had jangled his nerves had given way to the bourbon buzzing his head. With a jerk, he snapped his head up and shook it side to side. Movement from the spent lovers in front of him had jerked him wide awake. He saw Moretti sitting up and lifted his camera in a smooth motion, right index finger on the shutter button, depressing half way to give the camera time enough to meter the light, then… "HOO HOO!".

The blanket had fallen to Moretti's waist exposing her breasts, although her face was turned away, a perfect picture except for the fact the owl had startled him, and he'd jerked the camera. Angered, he turned to look for the owl, and found it sitting not more than a dozen feet away in a young tree barely 10 feet high... looking him dead in the eyes.

The man felt a shiver run down his spine as he recalled the native poo-poo about owls being the messengers of death. He turned back to the space between the trees, and saw Victoria Moretti resting her head on that old bastard's shoulder. And that old bastard, Walt Longmire was looking almost right at him.


	5. Poses

Longmire: Frames

Chapter 5…..Poses

"Oh Jesus Walt… Damn!" Victoria Moretti fell back to the blanket and rolled to her right side. Beside her Walt ran his fingers through his hair then curled up behind her.

Walt ran his hand up and down her thigh, finally resting it on her hip. They were both sweaty, and the combined heat of their bodies just made him want to sweat more, but he needed to feel her close to him, to know she was there, real, not a dream. It had been too long since he'd needed that kind of reassurance. _No, I've needed it for a while, this is just the first time I've admitted it to myself._

"Damn Vic… I feel like I'm eighteen again." Walt chuckled then buried his nose in the back of her neck. Vic surprised him when she reached up to the hand resting on her hip. She laced her fingers through his then guided his hand down to her stomach, idly stroking her thumb across his. She arched her neck and back then snuggled back into his embrace.

"Are you sure about that? I mean most of the guys I met couldn't even do all of that even if they were twenty-five." Vic laughed softly then turned her head to look over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

Walt just snorted and tried to frame this moment in his mind. He loved Vic's expressive face. Her sharp cheekbones, brown eyes, wide mouth, the fact that anything she felt was open to anyone who cared to notice.

Vic lay her head back down and asked "So, what is in the cooler?".

"A six pack of Rainier, some hotdogs, ice." Walt answered nonchalantly.

"Uh-huh. So your master plan was to get me up here, get me drunk, get my panties off, and have sex."

Walt rolled over onto his back, and stretched his arms. "Something like that. How did I do?"

"Well you got me up here, and got my panties off, and had sex, so… seventy-five percent. Mind you seventy percent is a passing grade in school so… I'll give you a D on sticking to the plan but an A for the execution of the relevant parts." She sat up, blanket falling to her waist. Just as she did, she heard an owl hoot twice off to her right, and heard… something. It was probably some animal rustling around in the leaf litter. She turned her head to look at Walt questioningly.

Walt had sat up just a couple of seconds after Vic and looked around her towards where they had heard the owl. He'd heard something move, but he doubted it was anything dangerous. He shook his head and reached over for the cooler and snagged two cans out of the ice. Handing one to Vic, he reached back into the color, fished around in the ice for the package of hotdogs and brought them out, along with a pair of metal skewers.

"I'm not sure I need any hot dogs right now." Vic smirked at Walt and then laughed at the look he gave her: head tilted down, the look he used to intimidate people with. He handed her one of the skewers.

"You need calories, I need calories".

"For?" Victoria inquired, sure she knew the answer, but wanting to make this quiet man spell it out. She loved the deep rumble of his voice. She could feel it in her core, between her breasts every time he spoke.

Walt tore open the package of wienies and thrust it towards her face. "We just burnt off calories, and are going to burn off more later. Besides what's the use in having a fire without hotdogs to cook?"

He loved it when Vic laughed. Her laughter was the same as her face; anyone who cared to try could read her easily, and he enjoyed this Vic more than the Vic from just a few weeks ago. He knew she wasn't over losing the baby, but she had regained a sparkle in her eyes and in her laughter. "So, did you and your father ever go camping?"

"My father? Camp? His idea of camping would be bitching about the slow-ass power company after a power outage. Although he did keep a couple of propane lanterns around for "just in case". I always loved the hiss the times we used them."

"I miss being back there sometimes, but…", Vic took a deep, deep breath. "I love the smell here. The trees, the not polluted with exhaust from a god damned bus, or garbage in a back ally or vomit behind some shitty bar."

Walt rested his hand between her shoulder blades. He wanted to say something. Some smart-ass comment like she would, or words of comfort. Something, anything, but he remained silent. She scooted over to sit between his thighs, her legs folded, as she skewered her hotdog. "So, I stick it in like this?" she queried, sexual innuendo dripping from her words.

"Uh-huh" Walt grunted as he skewered his own set of calories. "Then you hold it over the fire and…" he never got the rest of the words out. Vic turned her head and kissed him hard.

Later it turned out that Walt was right about needing the extra calories. It had started with him brushing aside a strand of her hair as she ate. She'd replied by stroking her hand down his stubble covered cheek. And as things progressed, neither was aware of the predator just out of site, camera clicking away. Nor did they pay attention to the strident hooting of the nearby owl. For now, it was about primal needs. Fire, food, sex. The world was narrowed to lips and tingling nerves and sweat and moans and desperate need.

The predator continued to click away, wishing he could throw something at that owl. It still unnerved him, just sitting there, staring at him. Condemning him for trespassing onto this property, into these lives, into this moment. Yet his forefinger continued to repeatedly press the shutter button. _Walt and Vic are done!_ He smiled.


	6. Blur

Longmire: Frames

Chapter 6….Blur

He woke up the next morning, went to the kitchen and started making coffee. It was impossible to navigate a morning with out the juice rendered from burnt beans. Scooping up fresh grounds, he placed them in the filter, added one more scoop for good measure, then pinched a good dollop to chew on as he walked over to his computer and hit the power buttons for both monitor and PC.

While the coffee maker worked its early morning voodoo, he picked up the camera and extracted the memory card. He held it up in front of his eyes, contemplating the evidence on it. It would sink the "Honesty" and "Integrity" of Walt Longmire, and his deputy.

Walking back into the kitchen, he saw that the coffee maker had worked its magic of running hot water through ground up burnt beans and rendering the fuel so many human bodies craved. He reached up into the cupboard and pulled down his favorite cup. Heavy ceramic, wide, large handle he could hook four fingers through.

Sipping his coffee, wishing he could gulp, he went over to the PC, and inserted the SD card. He navigated to the card, selected all of the pictures and copied them over to a new file. He then fired up his copy of Lightroom and imported the new images.

A quick run-through confirmed his thoughts. Movies and TV made it seem so simple to get that one picture. And if the people involved were models posing for a photographer… even then most of the pictures shot were discarded. Lighting, motion… a thousand different variables could ruin even a well-planned shoot moot.

Considering that his prey had been in the throws of passion, at night, with a constantly changing light source, he'd be happy if he got more than a couple of decent shots. At least digital was better than film in the fact that he didn't have to waste time and money on buying film then developing it. Although… that first 110 camera he'd bought with his hard-earned chore money had led to the near two-thousand-dollar camera he'd used last night. He breathed in deeply and went to the first picture and started scanning for the one or two that would put "paid in full" to Walt Longmire and Victoria Moretti.

A couple of hours later, he rubbed his eyes. As he'd suspected, most pictures weren't useable because of all the "action" going on. And several others were sharp enough, but Vic's hair obscured both of their faces. In a few others, the lighting was shitty because the camera couldn't adjust to the flickering flames as fast as it needed to. And several that should show some great detail were blurred.

He wasn't sure what kind of artifact it was, but in some primitive part of his mind the blur seemed to be a human hand waving in front of the lens.

He continued to look through the pictures, finally finding a couple that showed what was needed. In one, Vic was bent over Walt's body, looking into his eyes. Her hair, which had obscured many otherwise good shots, was swept over her right shoulder exposing both of their faces, although some lens flare had obscured both of their bodies.

The second picture showed Walt, holding Vic in a post coital embrace, his arms wrapped around her as they lay on one blanket, the other on top of them covering them. It wasn't the dirty he'd hoped to capture, but he knew it was enough to start seeding doubt about the two. His employer would be a bit disappointed that there was no "hard" evidence, but… he felt they could start working with these pictures.

Standing up from the picture, thankful for the God-given "Juice of Life", he finished dressing. The last thing he put on was his Sam Browne, the cuffs, and pistol snugged comfortably about his hips, printed pictures in hand. Tall cliff, sharp rocks, Walt Longmire and Vic Moretti fucked over, over sex. He laughed.


	7. Candid

Longmire: Frames

Chapter 7…..Candid

Vic kept her eyes closed for just those few seconds more. She was snuggled up behind Walt, her leg draped over his, and she just wanted this to last a bit longer. Since last night she was ready to face the future. Those hasty words she'd said after the first time she and Walt had made love faded into the background. They COULD move on even though they both missed someone else. She finally understood. Life could go on. Walt had gone on even though Martha was murdered, even though she would have died soon from cancer. Cady had gone on, even though her mother was gone. She was still going on even though the people of the Rez hated her because she'd dared to help save a boy's life.

When Walt turned over, staring into her eyes, she reached up and pulled his face closer with both hands. The kiss was sweet. Not sexual, just her telling him that she loved him. The hand he raised to cup her cheek then play with her hair told her the same.

"Damn. I don't want to go to work. Maybe I should stay home?" She teased, running the tip of one finger down his chest and across his belly. She laughed when Walt tried to wiggle away. Who knew Mr. Bad Ass was ticklish. She laughed and slid out from under the covers, making sure he got a good view of her backside by reaching up, and gathering her hair into a pony tail.

Walt rubbed his eyes, thinking that there WAS a view that put the one out his front door to shame. Vic cleaned up nice when she chose, but that didn't compare to the toned muscles sliding around under her soft skin. He longed to reach out and stroke her back, but he knew that if that happened, she would be late for her first day back to work. It would be an important day for her. Her first day filling in as the Sheriff of Absaroka County, Wyoming. The idea of a woman being a sheriff would probably make heads spin. He imagined the look on Jim Wilkins face. The sheriff of Cumberland county had never had a good opinion of females as peace officers, and the idea of one as sheriff, even if temporarily would singe his mustache.

"Either go to work or come here. I'm ready to burn off some calories.", he said, patting his stomach.

Vic looked over her shoulder and winked, a broad smile splitting the lower half of her face. She took a deep breath and started to dress. Walt lay on his side, head propped up in his hand. It wasn't the bra or panties she slipped on that drove him to distraction. It was the tight jeans and the tank-top she slid into. They accentuated EVERYTHING!

He slid out of bed, and hugged her from behind as she was buttoning up her shirt. "Anything you want for breakfast?"

Vic looked over her shoulder and replied, "I'll grab something at the Busy Bee."

A few minutes later she found herself walking down to her car, trying not to remember watching Walt dress in just a pair of pants. Just pants, nothing else, and wondering if he was trying to entice her to take just one more day off. _Probably. That old goat knows how to push my buttons… I'll push a few myself._ She smiled to herself as she added just a bit more hip-action to her walk. She knew he was watching and he better damn well enjoy the view!

Walt leaned against the porch railing, his hands spread wide and watched Vic stroll, no, saunter was the word that came to mind. The rear view of his deputy was the second-best thing about seeing her. As she drew near her car, the horse plodded over towards the fence. He watched The Holy Terror juggle options in her head, then she climbed over the fence and walked to the shed. She reached the barrel just to the side, pulled off the top and reached her hand inside to scoop up a handful of oats. She walked back over to the dark horse and held her hand out. The horse, being the gentleman that he was promptly bumped her hand, knocking most of the oats onto the ground then started to munch. Even though he couldn't hear her, he knew that Vic was castigating the horse—mostly with four letter words that would raise some eyebrows with people who didn't know her.

"Seriously? What the fuck?" Vic found herself running her hand up the back of the horse's head and neck, feeling the power lying just a few millimeters under the coat and skin. "Seriously, is the food you like to eat, or the dirt?".

The horse lifted his head to stare her in the eyes. She'd seen a lot of crazy in her days back east, but this horse beat all. Dirt seemed to be his main food group. She'd watched as Walt took the plastic food bucket, filled it with oats, and placed it on the ground. Then this dumb chunk of horse walked up, placed his left front hoof on the corner of the bucket and flipped it over on its side, spilling at least half of the food onto the bare ground. He'd gobbled it all up, then used his nose to right the bucket and burying his head deep inside, had started munching on the dirt-free remainder.

She slipped back over the fence and slid into her vehicle, ready to face the day for the first time in weeks. She wasn't sure which of the two big dumb animals who'd been between her legs recently amused her most: Walt or the horse. Either way, the day was promising to be warm, both had made her smile, and both made her feel that life was out there if she just stretched out her hand.

When she looked at the clock hanging in Walt's old office, she saw it was nearly three in the afternoon. A couple of more hours sand she could close the popsicle stand and go home. It had been a quiet day. The most excitement was when The Ferg had to go out to the Tate Estate. Well not "estate" so much as a sheep ranch owned by Annie and Bob Tate. They were headed to Splitsville, fast, hard and ugly. Bob wanted half the flock and Annie had said no. She said no by taking over half the flock and hiding them while Bob was off getting drunk that morning. Mind you, Annie was half way there herself when she concocted the plan. Annie had rounded up her two brothers and they'd moved half the sheep to another pasture. It had taken a while, but since Bob was an Olympic gold medalist in getting drunk, they'd had time. When Bob finally got home, Annie had told him he could have half. Even drunk, Bob knew something wasn't right. It had gone downhill from there. Annie had shoved him out of the door of their trailer. Bob had called her several un-Christian names, Annie had flung several empty beer cans at Bob, and Bob had retaliated by pulling out his knife and puncturing the all ready flat and decayed tires of the mobile home.

The Ferg had pulled up just a few second after, and had handcuffed them both, with out a struggle, then hauled them back to Durant and the county lockup.

"It's an annual thing for them. They've been getting divorced for years now, even though they never seem to manage it. I have to give Annie points for the sheep though. She'd get 75% if it worked out. Although the best was about 4 years ago. Bob got hold of a cutting torch and decided to give her half of their car… the passenger half. That didn't go well."

Vic rubbed her eyes. "What should we do with them?"

Deputy Ferguson crossed his arms and looked at the window for a moment. "Walt usually locked them up for a couple of days until they sobered up. Then he'd pick up next year's calendar and mark off the upcoming anniversary."

"Anniversary?" Vic queried.

"Yeah, every year about this time they go at it like this. It's their wedding anniversary. I have NO clue what so ever." The Ferg shrugged, lips pursed.

"Have either of them ever managed to hurt the other?"

"No. The trailer tires, the car hood, then there was the time Annie tried to cut the trailer in half with a chainsaw, but that wasn't the anniversary thing. She'd seen a magic show and…" Ferg trailed off and Vic shook her head disbelievingly.

Back home in Philly, she'd been busy doing the typical cop things: robberies, homicides, drugs. Here, she'd done some of that, but not as much. It was quiet here for the most part, but when stuff happened? "Seriously? A cutting torch?"

The Ferg hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Yep. When the sparks started flying one burnt his cutting hand. He dropped the torch and set the lawn on fire. We had all of Absaroka there; police, fire, ambulance, the news people, bystanders…" The Ferg trailed off, running his fingers though his hair.

"And we can expect this next year?" Vic looked at him. He provided confirmation with a simple nod of his head. "Hey Ruby! Get me a calendar for next year the next time you get shopping supplies!" Vic yelled through the door. To her surprise, Ruby strolled through the door, a calendar in hand. She plopped it on the desk and Vic noticed it was open to the relative month, and the date was circled in red magic marker with the single word "TATES" written inside. She gave Vic a motherly smile, patted her on the shoulder then bustled back out.

A few minutes later, Ruby slipped back into the office with a Manila envelope in hand. "I found this slid under the door downstairs."

It was addressed to "Victoria Moretti, Acting Sheriff". She undid the clasps and lifted the fold. Inside were several pictures. She slid them out, and her face went white. They were from last night!

The first was a picture of her and Walt on their sides, his arm wrapped around her middle, just under her breasts in a post coital embrace. The next showed her bending over to kiss him as she straddled his waist. The third showed her sitting between his thighs as they roasted hotdogs over the fire he'd made.

Anger built inside her. _I'm gonna rip your fucking nuts off when I catch you asshole!_ Various forms of violence and epithets went through her mind as she held the pictures, her hands shaking in rage, and in fear. They'd been violated! Their home— _OUR HOME!_ —violated. She felt her face flush from anger, fear, embarrassment. She reached for the phone to call Walt, just as it started to ring.


	8. Interpolation

Longmire: Frames

Chapter 8…..Interpolation

Walt watched Vic pull away, headed to her first day as acting sheriff of Absaroka County. He chuckled, thinking that today she'd get introduced to the Tates and their marital crazy. The chuckle turned into a snort then full out laughter. She hadn't had the chance to deal with them yet. They'd been quiet the last couple of years, well comparatively so. Last year, they'd both been in Mathias's jail over on The Rez. Public intoxication, drunk and disorderly, public indecency.

When Mathias had called him to ask if he wanted to come pick them up, Walt said "Nope!" Even though he couldn't see Mathias's face, Walt could feel the other man grinning over the phone line.

"Walt, how long have they been married?" Mathias had asked.

Walt rubbed his chin, counting back his years as sheriff, adding in the tales Lucian had told him; "About thirty-five at least, and every year they decide to get divorced on their anniversary. What was the public indecency charge about?"

The line was quiet for a few seconds. "They were having sex. On the hood of MY car. In front of the station. In broad daylight."

Walt had rubbed his eyes then pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger after which he rubbed his chin and mouth trying to keep from laughing. "Well now, that's a different one for sure."

"You really put up with that shit every year?" Mathias inquired.

"Uh-huh, although it usually involves more thrown beer cans, empty whiskey bottles, or cutting torches… or road kill."

"Gotcha." Mathias had offered a quick goodbye, and hung up. Walt smiled at the memory.

The year before that they'd been quiet, too quiet. So quiet that Walt had decided to make sure they hadn't killed each other and driven out to Casa Tate. They were both passed out in the front yard, having consumed nearly a half-gallon of Mezcal between them, and a fight over the worm, judging by what appeared to be a tug-of-war death grip each had on the neck of the bottle. He'd walked off and left them to wake up, with a hangover and sunburn as it turned out later.

And the year before THAT, they'd again been in jail, except Billings, Montana had the pleasure of their insanity. When the sheriff had called to ask if they were indeed legal residents of Absaroka, Walt had said yes and asked what had happened. The sheriff said he'd rather not mention it, and the few times he'd talked to anyone up that way, they all clamed up.

Walt had no doubt that Bob and Annie were going to liven Vic's day.

After a shower, Walt dressed. He stamped his feet into the old beat up cowboy boots and crammed the beaver felt cowboy hot onto his head. He strolled slowly down towards the pasture, enjoying the scents carried by the dry air. The horse came to meet him at the fence, and he walked to the gate, the horse following along. He opened the gate, making sure the four-legged beast stayed inside, then went over to the small barn to grab his riding tack. As he was buckling the reins to the bridle he noticed something glint; a dog tag with the name "Horse" stamped into the cheap metal. "Vic… " his voice trailed off and he snorted in amusement.

"Walt, we need to do some work on this place, make it feel like… home." She'd rubbed the back of her neck in unconscious imitation of himself.

He'd felt his heart pound in… anticipation? Longing? Rightness? "So, it's 'we'?" He smiled to let her know he wasn't trying to be sarcastic.

She turned away for a moment, looking out the window at the dark landscape out beyond the windows. When she turned around her face was slightly blushed, but there was fire in her big brown eyes. "Yes, WE!"

Walt took a deep breath—he found it funny how Vic Moretti seemed to make him take deep breaths—and said, "It wasn't that long ago you said…", before he could finish, Vic placed her fingertips over his lips.

"I know what the fuck I said. I meant it then. But, believe it or not, my ears can listen. We both have… I won't, you won't, but…", she paused. "I said I can't go on if anything happens to you. You said You loved me for me even if it was different. I…" She'd shrugged.

Walt knew what she was trying to say. Moving on was hard, and it was normal to love someone a bit more than others, but that didn't mean you couldn't love them. And as he'd learned himself, Loving Martha was one thing. Loving Vic was a whole different matter, and a good one as far as he was concerned.

"Besides this place looks like a fucking crack house, and a shitty one at that. Hell, back in Philadelphia, we have crack houses that would make it into "Hovels and Cesspits" before this place." She pointed her right forefinger at him, them tapped him in the chest. "There is NO WAY IN HELL I'm letting this wannabe hobo refuge be slighted."

Looking at the dog tag she'd placed on horse it was obvious that Vic WAS serious. She'd took her first step by naming Horse. After a good currying, he picked up the saddle blanket, making sure there were no burrs or any other irritants, draped the blanket over Horse's back, tugged it even on both sides, smoothed out the wrinkles then settled his saddle across Horse's back. He tugged the girth strap tight, planting his knee in Horse's ribs, reached up to the saddle horn and gave a slight shake to make sure the saddle was tight and climbed aboard.

Horse plodded out of the pasture gate, crossing the road towards the house then hung a left and followed the verge. Walt let the horse wander as it willed. When it came to an old dirt track just up the road, the horse hung a right and started up the road. Walt remembered the Smiths who used to own this old pasture land. A nice couple.

As he road along, he unconsciously scanned the ground ahead, looking for litter. Instead, he found his eyes falling on a fresh set of tire tracks. He smiled. In the past couples from teens to older adults had pulled off here and over the low ridge for some back-seat boogie-woogie. He decided to press onward and make sure they hadn't left any litter behind.

He found where the car had parked; casting around he saw two trails of depressed grass. One led away from the car, the other towards the car. Sheriff instincts triggered he decided to make sure they hadn't been illegally dumping trash. It wouldn't be the first time. As he neared the tree line, he saw both trails curve off towards the right. As he rode along, he noticed that the trail heading away from the car had started out at a normal pace, but seemed to be growing stealthier the farther it went. The further it went, the closer it came to his, no, their home. The trail leading away was the inverse. The closer it got to the car, the more the steps widened up.

In the pit of his stomach, he started to get an uneasy feeling. The feeling grew even stronger as he reached the copse of trees near his cabin, and the trail hooked left into the trees and underbrush.

Dismounting Horse, he dropped his reins to the ground knowing that the animal would stay there happily munching grass. He followed the trail into the trees. Broken weeds and bent limbs led him to a place where whomever had settled. The foliage was still green, and he was sure that the trail could only be a few hours old. Looking around, he spied a gap between two trees further ahead. In that gap, he could just see a clear spot of ground that he knew well.

Putting all the evidence together: the tire tracks, the trails to and from this point, the fact that the foliage had only been damaged in the last few hours, the fact that from this place, even though it was still a couple of hundred of feet away… someone had watched them making love last night.

A cold lump formed in his belly and chest, then it flashed in to heat, rage. He had no doubt. Their privacy had been violated, and the son of a bitch who did it was going to regret it.

He spoke softly, "Yes, you WILL regret this you son of a bitch!"


	9. Kicker

Longmire: Frames

Chapter 9…..Kicker

Earlier that day:

"Serioulsy? This is the best you could get after the money I've been paying?" the client said, slapping the folder of pictures against the desk. He reached rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and middle finger and sighed in exasperation and disappointment.

"Look, it isn't like what you see in the movies. You don't just run up and snap the 'tell-all' picture unless you want to get punched in the snout, or more likely shot in the ass while you try to get away. The bad thing about taking pictures like this? You can't get them to pose for the pictures, the light is unsteady, it's often hard to get a vantage point, and well… if you get a couple of decent shots of someone as reclusive as Walt Longmire doing something like this? Be glad! The man is damn near a hermit out there, and in public? You won't see displays of affection like that… shit, go ask the news guys how hard it is to get a picture for a story!" The photographer leaned back in his chair a bit, hands folded together at the back of his neck.

"You really didn't think it going to be EASY did you?" He pulled his hands back around and rubbed his chin for a moment. "Look, this will be enough to at least spook them, give you some leverage for...?" his voice trailed off, inquiringly.

The other man shrugged. I guess it won't hurt to tell. I want that land. Barlow Connally was right, we could make a killing off turning it into a golf resort. But hell, I'll take getting rid of that high-plains dickhead and his pain in the ass even if it just runs them out of town. They embarrassed me, and I don't take lightly to that. Personally? If I have any say about it, the Connally estate will get copies too, and a little encouragement to take some more action against our Walt Longmire. Hell, just the embarrassment factor…" he sighed as he wound down.

"Go for it, but keep me out of it. I don't want that son of bitch coming after me, and Vic even less. I'm looking to stay alive." With that he got up and started out of the office, stopping just as his client spoke. "I never thought I'd see you scared Jim."

Sheriff Wilkins turned around and glared. "I'm not scared, I just have a very healthy respect for the fact he hates me as much as I hate him. You better make this shit work! Otherwise…", grasping the door knob, he wrenched open the office door and strode out of the office.

 _Damn… I do need to get some better evidence if we're gonna pull this off. Maybe…_

He opened the door and settled into his cruiser, planning out a trip to an electronics store, and hoping like hell both assholes would never find out.

After Jim Wilkins had left the office, his client pondered the envelope. _I should have asked for more than one set… ah!_ He mused, recalling he had a copier in his office. He got up, scanned and printed each picture. Once he had a second set, he placed them into a folder and scrawled Victoria Moretti's name on the front. The other, he placed on his desk, ready for his own personal use.

Author's note: sorry this one is a little short, but there is one answer in this. LOL


	10. Reciprocity

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long for this chapter. Come the end of the year I tend to take a long vacation and stay away from the PC. Usually when I get back after the various holidays work starts out slow. Let's just say that didn't happen this year. Between vacation, and a plant upscaling to add in around a dozen more production lines for two major customers, and depression for personal reasons I wasn't as quick with this chapter as I'd hoped. Following chapters may have a bit of space between also, but hopefully not THIS long. Thank you for bearing with me!

Longmire: Frames

Chapter 10…..Reciprocity

Vic tried to calm herself as her hand reached for the ringing phone, tried to still her shaking hand. The last time she'd been this angry and wanted to take it out on someone, a young girl had lost her leg after a hit and run. Walt's chest had taken a beating that day for sure.

As she tried to curb her anger enough to answer the phone her eyes fell back to the pictures staring up at her on the desktop and her rage stoked itself once again, anger induced tears threatening to spill from her eyes, all the background noise of the sheriff's office fading into muffled nonsense.

"Vic?" She barely heard Ruby call her name. "Vic? What's wrong?" Ruby asked stepping closer. Vic didn't notice because she had her eyes squeezed shut trying to erase the image of the pictures. She only snapped to when she heard Ruby gasp, then felt the older woman stroke the back of her head. She looked up to see her secretary staring at the picture, her other hand covering her mouth.

Vic started collecting the pictures trying to stuff them back into the envelope they'd arrived it, but she knew it was too late. "I…." she started, fumbling for words but Ruby shushed her.

"Who the hell would do that? You've both been through enough the last few months." Ruby said her voice just a little shaky.

"I don't know, but when I get my hands on them, I'm gonna be using their nut-sack for keyring fob and a fuckin' coin purse!"

Ruby snorted, trying to hold back laughter. Normally she was appalled at Victoria Moretti's language but this time she approved. She placed her hand on the back of Vic's neck again and tried to regain her professional manner. "Walter is on line two. He doesn't sound happy."

Vic took a deep breath and looked Ruby in the eyes. She took another breath to steady her nerves and said, "I guess it's not a secret anymore?"

Ruby snorted. "It's never been a secret Vic. Now. Are you going to answer the phone? I said Walter doesn't sound happy."

Vic reached for the phone and pushed the blinking light that would connect her to line two.

"Vic? I think we might have a problem. Someone has been snooping around the cabin. Can't be any later than sometime yesterday."

Vic placed her hand on the envelope. "I know…. I have pictures sitting her on my desk of us last night."

"Fuck! Any notes or phone calls?"

"No, not yet."

Vic stared into the distance, just listening to Walt breathe over the phone. "Meet up where Mary got hit. We need somewhere private, that we can't be spied on. I don't think this is over by a longshot!"

She heard Walt inhale. "Yeah, I have a feeling this is just round one."

Walt Longmire pressed the End Call button on his phone, stuck it in his shirt pocket and fumed. He walked back towards the trees. Looking down he saw a broken branch about the length of his arm and at least three inches thick. He examined the bent split ends. It was fairly obvious that it had snapped off during a heavy snow. Suddenly all his rage flared out and he swung the branch at the nearest tree trunk, feeling the shock of impact travel up the short piece of wood and through his hands and arms, stinging his palms. "FUCK!" He swung again, the same pain the same anger the same word. The third time the branch broke. He looked around for another, spied one and picked it up, Swing, pain, rage, "FUCK!". This branch lasted a couple of more times than the last. He let the broken piece of wood fall to the ground, his rage spent. Now he was just cold anger. Whoever had violated them was in for a world of hurt and he was going to take pleasure in handing it out.

He stared for a second at the palms of his still stinging hands, the palms themselves and the pads of his fingers covered in scratches caused by the rough bark of the wood. He no longer noticed the pain or the traces of blood. All he saw was his hands around someone's throat, or his fists pummeling their face to hamburger. He turned around and trudged back to Horse then headed for home.

When he got home all he bothered doing was taking the saddle off and turning the animal loose in his pasture. He climbed into his Bronco and headed out towards the Rez.

Mayor Sawyer Crane leaned back flipping through the pictures he'd received earlier. It was too bad they didn't show more skin. All the good parts were blocked by someone else's body parts or a lens flare. He sat back trying to figure out how to use these pics. Several ideas went though his mind, but the one that kept coming back was control.

He'd never had rein on Walter Longmire, and the idea of his daughter Cady actually becoming the next sheriff bothered him. She was too much like Walt AND her mother. Leverage to get her to drop out of the race? He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Victoria Moretti was an even harder to control. Insubordinate, foul-mouthed, aggressive. Maybe this would curb her wilder side. Or not.

He tried to imagine the look on her face when she got her first glimpse of the pictures. That was all nice and good, but how to play the images. He wished there had been more. They were an attractive couple after all.

Jim Wilkins sat back from his computer. He'd been examining the photos he'd taken. He knew he wasn't that bad of a photographer. Oh, some of the stuff he'd said about how hard it was to get a good picture was true, but some of these pictures _were_ good. But that lens flare bugged the crap out of him. It was coming from a source that was much higher than the camp fire.

He walked over to his bag, pulled out his camera and popped off les cover. Everything appeared clean, no smudges on the lens. He capped both ends of the lens, stuffed it into his bag and set his camera to cleaning mode. Looking at the mirror, he couldn't see any dust or smudges there either. I placed the cover on the body and stuck it back in the bag also.

He walked back to his computer. It didn't make any sense. He stared at the pictures until his eyes started to burn. He raised his hand to rub his eyes and stopped with his fingers splayed in front of his face. He pulled his hand to the side to look at one of the pictures. He looked back over at his hand. Picture… hand. He felt a chill run up his spine. "No fucking way!" No one had been there other than himself, Walt, Vic, and that goddamned owl. Besides, the lines of the flare that looked like fingers were too thin for a human hand. But…

He clicked through a few more pictures. In each, the rays of the flare stayed constant in proportion. Every arrangement he could duplicate with his hand. He shivered and reminded himself that stuff like ghosts and apparitions were nonsense… but…


	11. Moods

Sorry for the long, long wait. Between work and my better half's parents and their health issues, I've been bogged down.

Longmire: Frames

Chapter 11…..Mood

Deputy Ferguson sat as his desk admiring the new lures he'd carefully made, lures that he hoped would land some serious trout on his next fishing expedition. He already had the place in mind and thought the colors would entice the local fish population into taking the fly.

The slamming of the door startled him, and the look on Vic's face as she stormed out of Walt's old office was one he'd seen before; someone was about to have their ass handed to them and he wasn't sure if he wanted to see it or not.

That wasn't unusual. What really got his attention was Ruby trailing out after her. He could see that she was trying not to cry, but the thing that disturbed him most was the anger he saw behind the tears.

He slid his chair back and stood up. He moved slowly toward Ruby and reached out a hand.

"What's wrong?" he asked, gently laying his hand on Ruby's shoulder.

"WHY CAN'T THEY GET A…. BREAK?" Ruby shouted, the unspoken profanity clear in her hesitation.

He tilted his head slight to the right. "Who?" he asked, although he was pretty sure of the answer.

Ruby closed her eyes and tried to gain control of herself. "Some… some… some…" the words wouldn't come to her. How could she describe what she'd seen with those pictures?

"Ruby? What's going on?". He slid his arm around Ruby's shoulder. Worry and fear gnawed at him. Ruby was the proxy mother, aunt, grandmother of the Absaroka County Sheriff's Department. He knew that for her to be so upset, things couldn't be good for Vic. Or Walt. "What happened?" he asked.

Ruby took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling. "I wish I could tell you… I WANT to tell you, but…" she trailed off.

Ferg took his own deep breath. And another. "Ruby?"

"Some one took pictures of Walter and Vic…". She didn't need to say any more. The Ferg understood immediately. "Jesus", he muttered. He wasn't prepared when Ruby slammed her fists on his desk.

"It's not FAIR!" she shouted. He laid his hands on top of her clenched fists, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to roll down his cheeks. He struggled for words, came up empty.

Then the phone rang. Ruby stiffened her spine, wiped the tears of anger from her eyes and answered "Absaroka County Sheriff's Office, how can we help you?"

Sawyer Crane answered, "I need to talk with Deputy Moretti".

"She's not here at the moment" Ruby replied.

"Where is she? Get her on the radio". The tone pissed Ruby off even more. "She's not here and not responding to radio. Is there something you need?"

"Just tell her to call me when you can. We have some serious stuff to talk about".

Ruby set the phone gently into the cradle. "No. She has enough to deal with."

Deputy Ferguson stared at the lures on his desk. Someone was looking to catch a big fish, either Vic or Walt or most likely both. But who? There was a list of some seriously angry people. The mayor? Walker Browning? Those nut jobs? Why not toss Sheriff Wilkins in the pot?

Ruby walked over and slid her arm around his waist. They both stared into the heavens and wondered just who would be so cruel.

Vic slid her car to a stop just outside the Cheyenne Rez. She'd told Walt to meet her where Mary Red Wolf had been hit by that asshole. She got out of the car and stared at the… she didn't now the words. Sure it was lonesome, it was majestic, it was empty, it was full of wildlife. There were no words to describe her surroundings.

Her anger boiled. She wasn't sure which bothered her worse; that she'd been violated, Walt had been violated, or they'd both been violated. Which pain was the worst? Or was there a "worst".

Barely conscious of the movement, her right hand dropped down to her holster, unsnapped, drew, and started pounding out 9mm rounds at the first convenient target, a left over poster from Sawyer Cranes last run for Mayor. Her hands automatically performed the functions she'd be taught: her thumb hit the magazine release, her left hand grabbed the next magazine and inserted it, her right thumb pressed down on the slide lock, the slide jacked forward with a satisfying thunk.

Her anger spent, or at least calmed for now, she bent down and retrieved the spent mag. Leaning in her Silver Bullet, she opened the glove compartment and retrieved a box of ammunition. She slowly started sliding rounds into the empty mag. Pull a round from the plastic tray, point it in the right direction, slide it in with her thumb, each round needing more pressure to over come the spring tension, weighing the magazine with its rounds in the palm of her hand…

She only looked up when she heard Walt's POS Bronco pull up behind her car. She would recognize it anywhere.

Walt opened the door, looked around. There was no way anyone could spy on them here. He didn't give Vic a chance to move. He moved forward and wrapped her in his arms. After a few seconds they separated. Walt looked at the old campaign poster. "Nice grouping" he drawled.

"Yeah well that punk…" Vic trailed off. "It was handy." She said

Walt took a deep breath, exhaled, took another. "Let me see the pictures" even though he really didn't want to see.

Vic reached in and grabbed the envelope with pictures. It was only when she started to hand them to Walt that she noticed the gauze wrapped around his palms. "What the fuck?" she asked.

Walt turned his palms upwards. Here and there on both hands, spots of red were leaking through. "I…" he didn't finish the sentence, wanting to tell Vic he'd lost his temper. He didn't need to. She slid his arms around his waist. "Yeah, I kinda…" she trailed off, pointing at the roadside campaign poster. They both laughed, a momentary release of tension. But they both knew that the pictures weren't the end of it all.

Walt pulled out his new cell phone and dialed his best friend, Henry Standingbear.

A couple of rings later… "Walt? What has caused you to actually use a cell phone? Would not smoke signals be more appropriate?"

"Henry? Can you get in touch with Martin James?"

"Walt, what is going on?"


End file.
